


Dents I Can't Shine Out

by Entwinedlove



Series: My Tender Insides [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-07 21:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14680245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Entwinedlove/pseuds/Entwinedlove
Summary: Bucky doesn’t do that sort of thing any more, except he still has the skills and this fierce need to protect. What do you know, the Avengers might have a place for him yet.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Alpha'd by [Travelilah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/travelilah)! Thank you so much for your help and words of encouragement!
> 
> [](https://i.imgur.com/HIv3bXc.jpg)

Steve's bike rumbled under him as he drove through the streets of New York on his way home. He had met with Tony and Natasha regarding a new direction for the Avengers. In addition to saving the world and possibly taking the fight to HYDRA, God how he hated the fact that they were still around, Tony had suggested protection detail for political dignitaries. Lately, there had been an increase in threats to foreign heads of state when planning for visits to the United States as well as an attempted bombing of the UN. Thankfully the police had acted quickly and had the meeting moved to an unannounced location. The bomb went off and did damage but no lives were lost.

Steve wasn't sure how he felt about playing guard-duty for politicians. They had Secret Service and military escorts already, how could having Captain America standing nearby help in any way? Besides, there weren't that many enhanced individuals to hire out. Bruce was a doctor working in third-world countries and the Hulk wasn't always as aware of his targets to be a good guard. Tony was so famous he needed his own security detail. Clint had checked in after SHIELD went down but left shortly after, claiming he was semi-retired now that SHIELD was gone. Nat was a spy more than a soldier and though he didn't doubt her abilities in the least, he wasn't sure how her presence standing next to politicians was going to deter threats. Thor was still off-world, as far as Steve knew.

He scrunched his face as he thought about his teammates. They all seemed to have things to do except him. Even Sam had the VA. Did Tony suggest guard-duty just so Steve would have something to do? He wondered if he ought to share his self-appointed mission of finding Bucky with Tony; would that help or hurt the search? He pulled his bike into the space where he normally parked it and shut it off.

Steve unlocked his apartment door and walked in, sighing. He dropped his keys on the table in the hall and set down his shield. He didn't bother with the lights. Tension and frustration were settled into his shoulders, digging in and making the muscles tight. He needed to take a hot shower to ease the strain otherwise he probably wouldn't sleep well. He doubted he'd sleep well regardless.

He was two steps into his bedroom when he stopped. Someone was sitting in the chair in the corner across from his bed. The blackout curtains had been pulled closed so it was difficult to see who was there. A flash of déjà vu reminded him of the Winter Soldier's—Bucky's—attempt on Fury's life. The attempt that the world saw as successful. His eyes finally adjusted to the deep darkness in his bedroom and his heart rate picked up when he processed what he saw.

Shaggy brown hair, broad shoulders, the slightest glint like metal on the man's left wrist between his sleeve and glove.

It took a moment before he found his voice but it came out steadier than he expected. "Do you know me?"

Bucky didn't move and his voice sounded gravelly like his throat was dry. "You're Steve; I read about you in a museum." Steve had read about himself in a museum too. The Smithsonian Air and Space Museum had reopened an exhibit about him three years ago when he'd come out of the ice. Steve's heart pounded heavily in his chest as he hoped that Bucky knew him, remembered him, beyond what he'd read at the exhibit. It was dark but Steve thought he saw the corners of Bucky's mouth lift just slightly before he added, "Of course, I know you, punk."

Elation and relief filled Steve and he might have shown it with a smile but his planted feet didn't move. It seemed his body remembered well the pain of being near the Winter Soldier. He opened his mouth to retort his practised line at that taunt but the single word got lodged in his throat and he felt he might choke on it.

Bucky nodded like he understood and got to his feet. He took the few measured steps until he stood directly in front of Steve. For several long beats of Steve's heart, Bucky gazed into his eyes. He brushed his fingertips against Steve's cheekbone in a tentative caress. Steve's breath rushed out of him in a shaky exhale that sounded suspiciously like a sob. "Jerk," he whispered.

Bucky's lips curled up into a tiny smile. He nodded as if he agreed with Steve's declaration and then tipped his chin up and pressed the smallest kiss against Steve's lips. Finally, Steve's body relaxed and his arms came up and wrapped around Bucky's back. He pressed quick, chaste kisses over Bucky's mouth, his cheeks, his jaw and rested his forehead against Bucky's. Bucky had tried to keep up and respond but gave up at one point and just let Steve shower him with kisses, even as he wiggled enough under Steve's clinging to wrap his arms around Steve's waist.

"You're here, you're real... Bucky, Bucky, Bucky," Steve's words were whispered and hurried, falling and tripping over his tongue like he'd never be able to say everything he needed to say fast enough before Bucky disappeared again. At some point in his litany, Steve realised he was crying but he didn't care. His best friend, his lover, that he'd thought he'd lost—that he'd failed to save—was back in his arms. Was here and not trying to kill him. Steve buried his face in Bucky's neck, only feeling slightly ashamed of the tears that still slipped from his eyes. He tried to calm his breathing, unconsciously attempting to match Bucky's, which caused memories of Bucky trying to get him to breathe slow and deep before they went off to war to come to mind. That's when he noticed a hitch in Bucky's breath every few inhales. He breathed deeply again, wanting to capture and keep the smell of him—leather, gun oil, clean sweat—just a bit longer before he pulled back.

Bucky's eyes shimmered and he had tear tracks glistening on his own cheeks. It made Steve feel less ashamed to know that Bucky'd cried too.

"I'm never letting you go again, you hear me?" Steve said, half-joking but still serious. He had no intentions of ever again having to live his life without Bucky by his side.

"Til the end of the line, pal," Bucky answered, agreeing. He pulled him back into another hug.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alpha'd by [Travelilah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/travelilah)! Thank you so much for your help and words of encouragement!

Sam always felt a little out of sorts after a visit with his sister and her family. Not that there was anything wrong with them, just things felt off-kilter. From the outside, Tamara had a perfectly normal life.

Normal house. Normal job. Normal husband. Normal kids.

But Sam remembered twenty-three years ago when a professor from a boarding school his family had never heard of showed up on their door with a declaration that would change everything.

Tamara was a witch. A no-maj-born and she'd been invited to attend a school for magical people in Massachusetts. Their parents had been accepting, excited, even if she was going to be so far away. Sam had felt cheated at first—where was his invitation? Where was his magic? After another school year where he went to his local high school in New Orleans and got to come home to his parents, he started to realise that he didn't need magic to make a difference.

He joined the Air Force.

Now he was out, working at the VA, and friends with Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff. He and Steve had been following leads to find the Winter Soldier but Sam had taken a week to visit Tamara. She'd moved back home to New Orleans after school, though now she lived in a magical enclave with her magical husband. From her excitement at his visit, it seemed both of his nieces had inherited magic too.

He was almost to his house when his cell phone rang through the car speakers and muted his music. "Wilson," he answered.

"Hey Sam, it's Steve. How was your trip?"

"It was good. It's always nice to spend time with Tamara and the kids."

"You home?" There was a tension in Steve's voice. Something must have happened while Sam was gone.

He was coming up on the right turn that would take him to his house but from the tone of Steve's voice, he clicked off his turn signal and accelerated. "Not yet, but close. Why?"

"Was hoping you'd swing by. I can order pizza for us or something."

Sam knew he was Steve's friend but he also knew Steve wasn't the type to have company just for the sake of company. He must have a lead on Barnes. "Yeah, sure. Be there in about... twenty, eh, thirty minutes." New York traffic sucked. Why did he live here again?

"Do you want the same thing you ordered last time?" Steve asked. Oh, right. Steve and the Avengers. That's why he lived in this city.

"Whatever man, you know I'm not picky."

"All right. See you soon."

"Bye." Sam wondered what Steve or Nat had dug up this time. Hopefully, they wouldn't be going on a goose chase through a former USSR country this time. He was hoping for a week's worth of good nights' sleep before they headed back out.

Sam parked near Steve's apartment building and headed up the stairs. At the landing, he knocked on the door and Steve opened it promptly. "Hey," Steve said. There was something awkward about his smile. He shuffled his feet and offered his hand to Sam in greeting.

"Really? A handshake? I thought we were past that," Sam teased even as he returned the handshake.

Steve's shoulders relaxed minutely and Sam nodded. Steve seemed to realize he hadn't stepped out of the doorway and he backed up, gesturing for Sam to enter. He did, looking around the space. It wasn't the most open floor plan but from what he could see nothing looked too out of place. The bedroom door was shut, which struck him as odd but Sam had done the same sort of thing when he'd left his bed messy and didn't want company seeing it.

"So," Sam started, moving further into the living room. "What new lead did you find?"

Steve had the decency to look bashful at least. "Well, I..."

The bedroom door unlatched and started to open.

Sam was instantly on his guard, turning towards the unknown in the apartment, hands clenching for lack of a weapon. Instinct.

From the shadows stepped out Barnes. He didn't look quite so intimidating standing there in a henley shirt and jeans rather than combat tac but Sam still felt the hair on his arms raise. Barnes didn't move after stepping into the room. His stillness didn't make Sam feel less like he was in the room with a predator, though.

Steve's nervousness seemed obvious now. Sam wondered if Barnes had coerced Steve to call. Make their deaths look like some accident. Or frame it as a murder-suicide, maybe. But then Steve did something that was incongruent to the tension Sam was feeling. He introduced them.

"Bucky, this is Sam Wilson; a close friend. He's been helping me get adjusted. Sam, this is Bucky Barnes."

No further explanation needed, really. Sam knew Barnes had been Steve's best friend and he suspected it might have been more at least on Steve's side but he'd never inquired further. It wasn't any of his business.

Barnes took about five slow steps until he was in front of Sam and reached out his hand, offering it. "Wilson," he said in greeting.

As much as Sam had nagged Steve to talk about his PTSD, he hadn't done the best job talking about his own. He offered his hand warily, knowing this man was the cause of his nightmares the last two months. Dreams of bullets and explosions, of losing control of the cars he drove, of being ripped out of the sky. He'd been the reason Sam had insisted he drive to New Orleans to see Tamara, to work on overcoming his PTSD-related fear of losing control while driving. When Barnes completed the handshake, his hand cool in Sam's grip, Sam released the breath he'd been holding.

The handshake was quick and perfunctory and Sam was left meeting Barnes' gaze. "I'm sorry," Barnes said. Sam could see the sincerity of his words in his eyes.

Another quick exhale, nervous tension and fight-or-flight adrenaline starting to fade, Sam nodded.

There was a knock on the door and all three men startled. Even Barnes, who let out a breathy chuckle. The sound seemed enough to make Steve grin and he looked back and forth between them, "Pizza, then?"

Sam and Barnes both nodded.

Sam couldn't get over the amount of pizza Steve had ordered nor how quickly the three of them ploughed through it at Steve's dining room table. They shared a bit of small talk as they ate, Sam sharing little non-magical anecdotes about his sister and his nieces with Barnes offering a few little tidbits of information about his own sisters. Steve just smiled like having both Sam and Barnes getting along and having a conversation was all he wanted in life.

Finally, as they leaned back full from all the pizza, relaxed, they started on the conversations that needed to happen.

"I don't know what to do now," Barnes admitted.

"Well, you're a POW. You probably need to reconnect with the Army for debriefing, demobilization. Retire or just get out if you want."

"They didn't declare me dead in '45?"

Steve shook his head. "We didn't..." the brief look on his face showed shame and regret so intense Sam wondered how he could hold it all in. "No body, no dog tags. I know that even though they declared me dead... since I came out of the ice they reinstated me. Back pay, automatic promotions. An obscene amount of money. I was given the opportunity to retire."

"You didn't?" Barnes asked, brows furrowing slightly.

Steve shook his head. "Not then, I was on loan to SHIELD. Then when... Well, with the dissolution of SHIELD, I got out. I'm on Stark's payroll now as an Avenger."

Barnes swallowed, looking down at the table. "What's that like?"

Although the question wasn't directed at Sam, he decided to answer it. "Unless you stay with the Army you're going to feel like you have too much free time. Setting your own schedule helps."

He looked up at Sam, seemed to take in what he was getting at, and then nodded. "I can't do that though."

"Can't do what?" Steve asked.

"Join the... your Avengers. I'm... even if the Army considers me a POW... I shouldn't be making plans for an 'after.' There probably won't be."

"Buck, you were brainwashed. You didn't have a choice."

Barnes's gaze shifted from Steve back to Sam, like he was wondering if he had an ally. Sam didn't let his neutral expression slip. Barnes looked back at Steve. "I still did it."

Sam wondered how many assassinations and instigated conflicts the Winter Soldier was responsible for and how many would be attributed to him at the end of it all. "You didn't remember who you were, though, right? How much do you remember now? About your life before and your time as..." he trailed off, not really wanting to call him the Winter Soldier.

"As the Asset?" he clarified, his brows raising with his question. He took a deep breath and shook his head. He looked back at Steve. "Remember those little flip drawings you used to do in the corners of newspapers when we were kids? The little figures throwing a ball or whatever?"

Steve's reactive smile at Barnes remembering that could have lit up the room if the lights were off. "Yeah, yeah. I'd draw on everything I could back then."

"It's sort of like that, sometimes, except the pages are out of order," Barnes said, returning to the question Sam thought he'd refused to answer. "I'm sure there are lots of things I'm not remembering and plenty I'm remembering in the wrong order but I'm... functional." His left eye twitched at the word. "There were times, programming where I needed to be directed to do even the simplest of things... but when that's not active I'm..." he gestured, opening his palms up where they rested on the table. "It's not like I need someone to tell me to wipe my ass or anything."

He shifted in his chair and let both arms slide back along the edge of the table, the plates on his forearm thudded twice against the wood before shifting to create a smooth surface. He didn't seem to notice though it had seized Sam's attention. Sam snapped his gaze back up to Barnes's face when he started talking again.

"I get nightmares."

"That's normal," Sam said even as Steve confessed to them too.

"I still get them. Things from the war. You falling. Going into the ice. Things since I woke up, like the Chitauri invasion."

"Beating your face to a pulp. The confusion from that; so many memories pouring through a break in the dam they put in my head. Zola. Losing my—" his left fist clenched and the plates shifted in his arm. He swallowed again and reached out to pick up his glass of water with his right hand. He took several sips before he set it on the table. "I've got a lot of nightmare fuel."

"You're two aren't the only ones," Sam said, trying for reassuring. He didn't know if he hit the mark. "It's not something unique to super soldiers or men out of time; us regular peons have nightmares too."

"Regular?" Barnes asked, and the corners of his mouth pulled up into a tiny smirk. "People being able to fly with wings is _regular_?"

Sam couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped. "Okay, so maybe I'm not the most regular guy, but yeah, most vets have nightmares. Being," he gestured with a flick of his finger towards both Steve and Barnes, "enhanced might make them worse, though. Something about feeling a heightened amount of emotion?" he raised an eyebrow and turned his head to Steve, directing the question to him.

"Yeah. You feel... everything... more." Steve tipped his head to the side to look at Barnes, who again was looking down. "We'll get through this. Even if it takes a bit of time to settle in, all right?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alpha'd by [Travelilah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/travelilah)! Thank you so much for your help and words of encouragement!

Steve tried to stay busy. That was the only way he could survive all the things that were going on with Bucky without going crazy. He and the Avengers planned and executed three raids on suspected HYDRA cells as they sought out Loki's sceptre. Between strategizing and training, Steve spent a lot of time refreshing himself with drawing pencils and paper. He'd drawn the city landscape from his apartment. He'd attempted to walk downtown and sit at a cafe and draw but had been recognised and accosted by fans and paparazzi wanting autographs and photographs.

At first, it had just been because of his own fame as Captain America and an Avenger. Then news of Bucky's return and talk of a trial became public and suddenly Steve couldn't even leave his apartment building without fans and haters alike standing outside waiting to have their say. It got so bad that Nat, Tony, and Sam rigged a distraction and extraction for him. Sam had insisted on it when he'd learned that Steve had eaten takeout or frozen pizza for over a week and no longer had food in his fridge.

So Nat had driven up to the curb, parked, and got out, letting the crowd see who she was while Sam and Tony had met Steve on the roof. There had been a disagreement about who carried what but Tony won and carried Steve away while Sam carried his duffel bag with his clothes and art supplies. Once they'd got away safely, Tony called Nat from the suit and she acted surprised, letting the crowds hear her say she'd come back some other time.

Steve was told it took the crowd an entire week before they realised he wasn't in the building any longer and another for them to dissipate completely. Many had made the assumption that Steve was at Avengers Tower now but Tony had sentries and lawyers to stop anyone from loitering directly outside his building.

In the month and a half since he and Bucky had reunited, he'd only been allowed phone conversations. Bucky had turned himself over to the military and underwent debriefing, demobilization, testing, and therapy. He hadn't been allowed to give Steve information regarding his location but he'd been as clear as he could about what was going on and if he was okay. The only time Bucky had become agitated and upset was when he said he was going to have to go to trial. He had been scared. He hadn't admitted it until the very end of the phone conversation in a strangled whisper amidst the quietest sobs Steve had ever heard and he'd desperately wished he'd been there to physically comfort Bucky.

Steve had not been allowed to go to the closed trial.

The phone conversation that Steve received after the judge declared Bucky not guilty was full of elation and what sounded like happy tears. Steve could admit to himself that he'd been emotional while talking but it wasn't until after they'd hung up that he allowed himself to break down and truly cry. Bucky was coming home.

*** . * . ***

Steve learned that Bucky was much better at going incognito than he was when he watched Bucky walk right past the group of protestors and into the building like he had lived there for years and they didn't notice him at all. He greeted Bucky by the elevators, far enough into the tower that the paparazzi and protestors couldn't see. Steve couldn't help it and pulled Bucky into a tight hug before stepping back into the elevator. He didn't let go of Bucky's hand either.

Bucky's quick glance at the inside panels of the car and the lack of buttons had his eyebrows knitting for a brief moment before JARVIS spoke. "This lift is voice-activated and used for direct access to the Avengers-only sections of the tower, Sergeant Barnes. Only a small selection of people are authorised to use it. You will be given permission after a twenty-four hour waiting period and confirmation from Mr Stark. Captain Rogers, will you be going to your floor or one of the common areas?"

"Our floor first, JARVIS, so Bucky can unpack." JARVIS activated the elevator. "So," Steve started, watching his hands as he spoke, "Tony offered to designate an entire floor for you like he's given the rest of us but... I thought," Steve felt his throat squeeze and he looked up at Bucky, "I probably shouldn't have assumed."

"It's fine, Steve. I don't know what I'd do with an entire _floor_ of space for myself. Think it would be too empty. I don't mind sharing with you."

Steve was able to swallow again and smiled. "There is a separate bedroom, in case..."

"In case we break the bed in yours?" Bucky asked, his tone going deeper and quieter.

Steve had thought that between Bucky and the Howlies and the Avengers he wouldn't have the ability to blush again but he glanced away as he felt his face flush. "Something like that," he agreed, looking back at Bucky.

Bucky's smile wasn't nearly as suggestive as his tone of voice had implied but Steve was interrupted from coming up with anything else to say when the elevator opened and JARVIS offered the gentle reminder, "The welcome home dinner you planned will be ready in the common area kitchen at seven, Captain."

Steve let Bucky walk out and inspect his surroundings without interrupting him, watching as his gaze moved from the windows at the far side of the living room to the hall leading to the bedrooms and studio. When he was sure Bucky had given the place a simple once-over for exits and the general location of things, he walked up behind him and laid his hand on his shoulder. "Come on, let's get you settled."

Steve showed Bucky the spare bed and bath, first doors left and right off the hall. Then their bedroom and attached bath at the end of the hall. He gestured to the last door and mentioned the art studio Tony had set up for him and Bucky grinned as he followed Steve into the bedroom and set down his duffel bag. "Glad to know you're still drawing and painting. You are painting, right? Now that you've got access to supplies?" He unzipped his duffel bag and started pulling out his few clothes, rolled tightly to save space.

Steve gave him a half-shrug as he pulled open the four empty drawers on the left side of the dresser and opened the closet door. "I haven't actually. Didn't really start picking up my drawing pencils until all this waiting around for you to be done with demobilization and therapy."

Bucky's smooth motion of folding his shirts and transferring them to one of the drawers stuttered for a moment. He finished the task before he turned to look back at Steve, his bottom lip between his teeth in a look of worry. "You know I'm not finished with the therapy, don't you? There might never be an end to it. I've got a lot of shit to get straight in my head."

Steve felt off-balance for a moment despite sitting on the bed watching his best friend. He hadn't realized the therapy wasn't over. Hadn't really thought about it. Bucky was better. They wouldn't have released him from the army otherwise. Steve's thoughts went to Sam and his meetings at the VA, maybe that's what Bucky meant. "I've sat in on Sam's counselling meetings at the VA for vets. Maybe I can—"

Bucky shook his head, "No, Steve. These aren't casual group meetings where we all talk about our problems, though I'm sure those might be helpful to some. Mine are... intense one-on-one sessions to help me deal with what was done to me and what I did as the Asset."

"Oh," Steve said. "Right. Well, uh—" he was suddenly worried that his welcome home dinner might not go over well. He'd set it up as an Avengers meal, as a sort of welcoming Bucky to the team evaluation. Now he didn't know if Bucky would want to join the Avengers or what he'd want to do. Steve was starting to feel like he didn't know Bucky at all anymore. He'd just assumed that Bucky would have the same feelings of displacement and not fitting into the future as he did and his way of dealing with it was to get back into the fight. To do what was right. Maybe Bucky wouldn't want to at all.

Bucky had returned to putting away his things while Steve had gone silent and was just stepping out of the closet after putting his collapsed duffel bag on a high shelf out of the way. He closed the closet behind him and gestured to the sketchbook Steve had left laying on the dresser. "May I?" he asked, pointing to it.

The question felt wrong coming from Bucky. He'd never shied away or asked permission to look at Steve's sketchbooks in the past, something that had always bothered Steve especially when he'd done that series of nude figure drawings and included a sleeping Bucky late one night after they'd made love. Steve nodded absently, still trying to find his footing with Bucky's comments about therapy and the awkward, nervous tension between them. Maybe Bucky was feeling the disconnect between them too.

"You must have a thing for that fruit bowl," Bucky teased after he'd flipped through a dozen pages.

"I was trapped—" he winced, "bored," he said in correction. "Well, I didn't like going out with all the attention from the paparazzi and all the fans and haters. It got pretty bad for a while there before Tony insisted I move in here."

Bucky nodded, his lips poking out in a pout as he thought. Then he said, "All the fruit looks, not wrong, but... sort of perfect," without looking up.

"It was fake. I'd got tired of the skyline from my apartment windows and decided to set up still lifes with the table decorations that Sam's mom sent me as a house-warming present."

The last few pages he'd become bored with even that and had started sketching the walls and disarrayed bedding in his bedroom with the fake fruits in tucked away incongruent places. His favourite was the pineapple, upside down on the dresser wearing his baseball cap with his cell phone propped against it. He could tell when Bucky got to that one because it made him smile and silently chuckle. "I like it. You haven't lost your touch, that's for sure." He closed the sketchbook and returned it to the dresser. "I bet your penmanship is still great as well," he said, looking down at his hands. His left curled into a loose fist before he looked back up. "Haven't had much chance to pick up a pen in the last seventy years. The documents they had me sign for retirement looked really bad. Can't feel the pen in my hand. They tried to get me to sign with my right, even insisted that it had to be the way I'd learned but..."

Steve's eyebrows furrowed as he narrowed his eyes at Bucky's hands. "You are—were—right-handed, Buck."

"Really?" he looked back up, true confusion on his face. "Could have sworn..." he murmured to himself. "Hmm. Wonder if the mind wipes changed it."

"Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS spoke up, "Dinner will be served in five minutes."

"Thank you, JARVIS," Steve said. He looked over Bucky, hoping the dinner and proposal to join the Avengers would work out. He gestured towards the door with his head, "Ready to meet the team?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alpha'd by [Travelilah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/travelilah)! Thank you so much for your help and words of encouragement!

It had been a few weeks since Barnes's first welcome dinner at Avengers Tower. Steve had been anxious and might have been attempting some new form of telepathy with the way he had been wiggling his eyebrows and making faces at Sam when Barnes wasn't looking. Sam had tried not to laugh. He'd had a feeling that Barnes might not be ready to jump back into active duty even if that duty wasn't the Army. Steve must not have had that thought.

Tony hadn't understood Steve's eyebrow language either and barrelled on with ideas and equipment and suggestions until Barnes had gone pale and overwhelmed. Nat had kicked Tony's shin to get him to shut up.

"Of course, you don't have to do anything you aren't comfortable with," Tony said, interrupting his own monologue. Sam wondered how Tony could talk that much and still eat as much as he had.

After an awkward pause, Nat had spoken softly, "There's been some talk of personal security detail. Protecting people." She'd rolled her eyes a little and added, "Politicians, mostly, foreign dignitaries, heads of state."

Barnes had regained some of his colour by then and nodded, swallowing the food he'd been masticating a while. "Protecting someone sounds... okay."

Steve had released the breath he'd been holding and looked at Barnes with this dopey little grin on his lips and Sam had wanted to laugh so much. Steve had it bad.

"Hey, team meeting after dinner?" Tony said as the group of them were just sitting down around the table. It had been Nat's turn to decide takeout for the team dinner and she'd picked Thai. "I've got some interesting—possibly, dangerous?—footage from that fly-by when Sam and I were testing Red Wing."

"What sort of dangerous?" Steve asked, already digging into a container to put a helping of Pud Woon Sen on his plate.

"Well, I'm not sure," Tony said, taking a bite of food. "It's just puzzling. Like something you'd see in a sci-fi movie."

"A sci-fi movie? Really?" Sam asked.

Tony nodded, before gesturing to the pineapple curry in front of Nat with a flick of his fingers. She slid it to him. "A camera trick that's not a camera trick. I've had JARVIS analyzing the footage for a while and we can't seem to make heads or tails of it."

Barnes laughed. "I think sci-fi would be normal around here," he said and tapped his metal fingers on the fork he was holding.

Tony grinned and gave a little shrug even as Steve nodded and gestured at his chest with his own fork. "Me too."

"All right," Sam said, teasing them all, "I get it. I'm surrounded by people right out of a science fiction movie."

Nat's lips twitched into something of a smile before she took another bite. Barnes gave him a disbelieving look and rolled his eyes dramatically. "Says the guy that can fly."

"You really like my wings, huh?" Sam asked, grinning.

"Well," Barnes said, tipping his head to the side, "I'm not a big fan of falling."

Steve choked.

"Sorry, Steve," Barnes said, looking contrite. He looked back down and focused on his plate.

Sam felt bad for the guy. It seemed his time in therapy was helping. Having gallows humour about traumatic events in his life was better than not talking about it at all. Not being able to talk about it with his best friend seemed like it must be hard. Though it was traumatic for Steve too. Sam still didn't think Steve had called the therapist he'd recommended.

They finished off the food in silence, after that. Even Tony seemed a bit lost for words. Finally, when they had devoured everything and Barnes was scraping the bottom of one container with his fork and Nat was eating her last piece of shrimp, Tony nodded and stood up. Sam followed and started gathering all the empty takeout containers to take to the trash and Steve collected the dishes to put in the dishwasher. When the kitchen was back to rights and the dishes washing, Tony gestured them all to the communal living room where he got JARVIS to port the footage from Red Wing onto the large TV.

Steve sat at one corner of the couch and before Barnes chose a spot, Nat sat in the middle. Barnes sent her a soft grin and sat on her other side. Sam took the armchair nearby. Tony stayed standing, it was likely he would pace as he talked.

It only took a moment for Sam to recognise what he was seeing on the screen. Red Wing had flown over several buildings and, to test the manoeuvrability of the drone, dived down 44th, swung between buildings and swooped around Bryant Park to see the back of the library. The face tracking software boxed in on an Indian woman in a teal business suit. Then suddenly she was gone. Disappeared instantly from the footage.

Sam's eyes went wide. He knew what that was. There wasn't any audio but he could tell by the way the woman turned on her toes, there would have been a CRACK or maybe a soft pop depending on the woman's skill. Apparition. Tamara had been so excited to show Sam that, to show off and tell him all about a boy in her class splinching his right butt cheek off. She was quick to tell him that the teachers had put him to rights shortly thereafter but it had left him scared of it every time she'd done it since.

Shit.

Nat had leaned forward, squinting at the screen. Steve and Barnes were both looking concerned and Tony was huffing in frustration.

"So, you see. I don't know if that's an isolated incident or cause for national panic. Is that woman a threat? From what JARVIS has gathered on her, she works at the United Arab—"

"She's not a threat, Tony." Sam didn't realise he'd spoken until after the words were out. All four of the others turned and stared at him like he'd lost his mind. He blinked and looked away from them, back to the screen where JARVIS had paused the footage. "Look, I can't explain how I know, but that," he pointed at the screen, "isn't a threat."

"You can't just leave us hanging like that. How do you know? Do you know that woman? Everything JARVIS pulled didn't show a connection to military or..." Tony kept on talking but Sam pulled out his cell phone.

_Tam, we've got footage of someone doing something. KWIM?_ he texted his sister.

There was an answering chime about thirty seconds later.

_How bad?_

Sam glanced up to see everyone watching him. Tony's mouth was slack like he was itching to know to whom Sam was talking. _Can't write it off as a camera trick or stutter._

_Shit. There's been talk about telling since BattleNY but nothing yet. Can you squash it?_

_I can try._ He looked back up and gave them a smile that felt wrong on his face. He licked his lips, feeling like prey suddenly with the way everyone was looking at him.

"Who do you know that Rhodey doesn't? Are they Air Force? Is that Air Force tech? Alien tech? It's not Asgardian or Chitauri as far as I can tell."

"Have you shown Rhodes this?" Sam asked, hoping it wasn't already leaked beyond this room.

"Not yet, I was hoping to catch this before something major went down. I was going to assign a few cameras and maybe some personnel to keep eyes on her."

"Leave her alone, Tony. Don't be stalker-creepy."

Tony pursed his lips and might have stomped a foot, instead, he gestured down with a clenched fist. "Leave it? Why? This could be big. I want to know what sort of tech she's got. Who's her supplier? What else can it do? Who she's really working for—"

"Tony. It's likely she's just a civilian. Bury this."

"What?" Steve asked, leaning forward and bracing his arms on his knees. "You want to hide the fact that someone out there can disappear at will? Why?"

"Let's just keep it as I know something you don't. Bury it for six months. If the thing I know doesn't come to light by then, I'll tell you."

"JARVIS, set an alarm for exactly three months from now." his brow was pinched and he pointed at Sam. He spoke through clenched teeth, "Three months is all you get before I alert the alphabet agencies and before I approach this girl. And if she blows up half the city before then? I'm including you in the blame, do you hear me?"

Sam nodded. "Loud and clear, Tony."

Steve's brow was furrowed in concern and he glanced down at the phone Sam was still holding. Sam made a point to put it back in his pocket.

"In other news," Tony said, his voice still strained, "We've got a British minister coming to DC for a highly classified meeting with the President. As a favour to a friend, I offered to hire out one of the Avengers as protection detail at a discount." At his change of subject, JARVIS changed the screen to show a brunette white woman in her thirties in a well-tailored business dress. "Her name is Hermione Granger."


End file.
